


You had me at meow

by DropsOfAutumn



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, And the cutest cats, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gay Disaster Keith (Voltron), I love Red!, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pining Keith (Voltron), Slightest bit of angst, handsome stranger Shiro, matchmaking cats, yes that's a thing in my stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 16:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropsOfAutumn/pseuds/DropsOfAutumn
Summary: Inspired by a Twitter thread, Keith's tabby cat Red falls in love with his neighbor's beautiful white Persian.Not long before Red is not the only one with a crush.--There, in blue ballpoint and neat letters, it reads "Hi, I'm Black. You're my best friend, Red!"Just then, the familiar Persian cats appears underneath the sign, charmingly waving her elegant tail at them, and Red starts scratching at the window glass. Keith can't help but chuckle.His cat is in love. This is better than any romance novel.--





	You had me at meow

**Author's Note:**

> Everything started with this amazing [Twitter thread](https://twitter.com/kenziecoffman/status/1120478106203107329).  
> The cats inspired me to write this Sheith piece and if you prefer reading it as a Twitter thread (with lots of typos :'D) you can find the whole thing [here](https://twitter.com/DropsofAutumn/status/1120779990042324995). 
> 
> Hope you like it as much as I do! Spontaneous, fluffy shorts are my favorite! (Even when they turn into 5K indulgence)
> 
> As always biggest thank you to the best [PiscesDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiscesDragon/) for beta reading ♡  
> Also a big thank you for everyone who kept reading it on Twitter and enduring my typos.  
> And big kudos to whoever spots the Hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy reference. ILU.
> 
> Have fun! :)

When he first notices Red sitting on the windowsill, he does not spare a second thought. He's pretty sure his cat has seen a bird fly by-it’s a usual sight. Making a mental note to keep the windows closed so Red won't jump out to chase it, Keith does not even bother to move the cat from his favorite spot. It's not before Red starts pawing at his window furiously that he figures something might be off.  
  
"Hey Red, it's just a bird", Keith tells his cat from where he has his nose buried in his college papers. The damn essay is not going to write itself, but Red tapping the glass with harsh determination caused him to read the same sentence for the fourth time before giving up and looking at his cat. 

"What's up?" Red only starts meowing, gaze fixed on something outside the window. When Keith follows his glance, he see a beautiful white Persian cat sitting at the window just across the small alley between the houses.  
  
A beautiful white Persian cat who would not stop pawing on the window, gaze fixed on Red.  
  
"You're such a womanizer, Red!" Keith chuckles and waves at the Persian cat on the other side. Red only hisses. "Don't tell me you've got a crush on her, buddy?" Of course, Red does not  answer. He's a cat.

Said cat starts pacing the windowsill instead, eyes never leaving the white beauty, giving Keith an idea. He blindly fishes for a piece of paper, fidgeting with the cap of a Sharpie before he leaves black letters on white canvas and tapes the paper to his window with some cat-print washi tape.

"Hi, I'm Red. What's your name?"  
  
Just when he wants to congratulate himself for this brilliant idea, the Persian cat averts its eyes – and jumps down, away from their view.

Keith thinks he can actually hear the sound of Red's heart breaking.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
His cat's constant meowing wakes him way too early the next morning. "Let me sleep, food can wait!" Keith grumbles, throwing his arm over his eyes. Late-night essay writing did not pair well with an early morning wake-up call from Red. 

But Red just keeps nosing his arm and cheek and ('Boy, Red, keep the claws to yourself!') Keith finds himself too awake to go back to sleep. As he pulls up his blinds to let some light in, Red immediately jumps onto the windowsill – and stops dead in his tracks when there's a new sign in the window across the small alley.

He has to squeeze his sleep-drunken eyes extra hard, but there, in blue ballpoint and neat letters, it reads "Hi, I'm Black. You're my best friend, Red!"  


Just then, the familiar Persian cats appears underneath the sign, charmingly waving her elegant tail at them, and Red starts scratching at the window glass. Keith can't help but chuckle.  
  
His cat is in love. This is better than any romance novel.

 

"She's called Black!", Keith explains, though he's pretty sure Red doesn’t comprehend. Red only meows. 

As the good cat-dad he is, Keith does not want to end this romance and he searches for the notepad and the black Sharpie from the day before, writing another message to their neighbor's cat. He writes "You are very pretty, Black", and Keith adds a tiny drawing of a ginger cat at the bottom corner, suspiciously looking like Red. 

He makes a mental note to get more of the cat-print washi tape before leaving for university that day.  
  
  
  
*****  


When he returns home a few couple of hours later, the first thing he hears is the desperate meowing of his cat, accompanied with the rhythmic sound of paws tapping against glass. He instantly knows where to look for Red.  


Of course Red is pacing the windowsill. Has he moved one bit that day?

In the corner of his eye, he can see the sign on the other window, still the one from the morning and no Persian cat in sight.

"She has not replied yet." Keith must be imagining the sad look on his cat's face.

"Come on buddy, let's get you some food." He cradles the Tabby cat up in his arms and carries him away from the window, not minding the claws digging into his biceps. ‘There's only one cure to heartbreak,' Keith decides, before he drops Red on the kitchen floor and opens a can of the good food he has saved for special occasions.

Red seems extra cuddly after.

 

Before he heads to bed that night, Keith checks the window one last time – and there it is, the same blue ballpoint pen, the same curvy letters. "You're really handsome, too, Red."  
 

Keith leaves the blinds a bit open that night – for Red – and wakes up to his cat sleeping curled up on the sill.

*****  
  
It continues like that for a couple of days, with the cats exchanging conversations and getting to know each other. Red wants to know what Black's favorite food is ("Tuna, of course! what's yours?”) and Black is curious about Red's favorite toy ("I prefer my scratcher, but sometimes mice toys are nice!"). They sometimes talk about Red's favorite free time activity ("Naps!" though Black prefers being brushed), and one day they have such a heated discussion about the brand of their cat litter that Keith has to laugh out loudly while writing, earning him a judging look from his cat.

Black’s owner seems to be up at odd hours, the answers to Red's questions appear usually in the early mornings and late in the evening, but then again Keith is not one to talk with his late night cramming sessions and days that usually don't start before noon.

  
Before long he has to adjust his sleeping schedule to his cat waking up in the early morning hours. Who needs an alarm when you have Red jumping on your belly as soon as a new message is taped to the window?

But Keith's curiosity is piqued – even though their cat's chatter has been going on for about two weeks now, and he’s gotten to know a lot about Black by now, he still does not know anything about the cat's owner. Usually, the neat grey curtains of the opposite apartment are closed, shutting it from the world and Keith's view. Before meeting Black for the first time, he had never felt a need to peek into the window, preferring his privacy and respecting that of his neighbor.  
  
  
Something about the messages on the window makes him curious. Not only the curvy letters and the neat handwriting (not everyone can pull off such a handwriting with a ballpoint pen, he admits), but also the way the words on the papers taped to the window speak to him. 

The words are decisively beautiful and humorous, and Keith has to acknowledge there was at least one occasion when he looked forward to reading the answer to a particular stupid question "But what IF mice were the most intelligent species on earth?" (And the answer "Please, they cannot even count to 42!” sent a strange flutter to his stomach and a warmth to his cheeks.)  


So Red waking him up way too early gave him the small chance to actually catch a glimpse of his sneaky neighbor. Just to make sure it's not a grumpy old lady or a weird old man in an undershirt.  
  


It's not without a grunt that Keith lolls out of bed that morning and props himself on the windowsill where Red is already seated. With two fingers, he pries the pleats of his blinds apart.

And forgets to breathe for a second or two.  


There, bathed in the dim morning light, stands the most handsome man he has ever seen, wearing only grey sweatpants with a towel around his shoulders. His black hair is wet, neatly tucked in place except one streak at the front, allowing an unhindered view of sharp cheekbones and a square jaw. 

Keith doesn’t think he is imagining the tongue peaking out between his neighbor's lips in determination as he fixes today's message to the glass. It's terribly cute, he has to admit, feeling his cheeks heat.  
  
When the man turns to his cat with a smile – so warm it feels like it melts into Keith's heart – before patting Black and mouthing words he cannot hear, Keith knows the damage has been done.

His heart skips a beat. 

Just in time, he notices the guy looking up, gazing in his direction – and Keith has never been so fast to stumble back, tripping over a chair and landing head first on his mattress.  
 

And _boy_ does he have a hard time figuring out if his heart is bursting out of his chest because he got caught – or because of the most beautiful smile he has ever seen.  


*****  


It's only downhill from there. Again and again, Keith finds himself waking up early to catch a glimpse of his handsome neighbor and leaving the blinds closed for days when he feels especially hobo – he does not want the guy to get the wrong idea about him.

(But then again it's the end of the semester and Keith has every right to wear sweatpants and old hoodies and to pull his hair up like that. Being in style has not yet saved his ass from failing Math III.)  


His neighbor does not seem to mind his staring, and at one point he even waves at him after placing Black's daily message to his window ("Have a nice day, Red! I can't wait to hear what you think about your new food!"). And Keith stumbles over his own feet at that wave but manages to not make an utter fool of himself and actually waves back.  
  
Well, that's a progress.  
  


It's only a couple of days later that it's actually Red's third birthday and of course Black is sitting at the windowsill when they wake up, lazily stretching and providing Red with quite a good view.

So Keith leaves a message, drawing a cupcake with a candle on it.

Later that evening he comes home to find Black, all dressed up with a bow tie and a party hat, sitting across, watching Red (and maybe Keith, but it was almost always only Red).

The paper on the window reads "Happy Birthday, Red" and Keith tries hard to pretend Red not being extra cuddly that evening.  
 

His cat being in love is just the cutest thing.  


*****  


Keith returns one day and finds Red on the windowsill, loudly serenading meows to the glass. It's then he decides to leave the window open for a bit so Red can actually communicate with his beloved, chuckling while patting Red’s head. “You really got it bad, buddy, don’t you?”  


His cramming session that night gets interrupted by the noise of a window sliding open and soft cat noises filling the air. Red is the first to jump from his napping place on Keith's bed right onto the sill, eagerly returning the meowing.

Tipping his chair just the slightest bit backwards, Keith spots his handsome neighbor sitting on the windowsill of his apartment, one hand buried in Black's fur, the other hand flashing him a thumbs up. Keith cannot help but blush and his hand finds a few strands of hair to tug into place from where the have escaped his unappealing ponytail.

He does not know if he can do any damage control, but at least he tries his best.

The baritone chuckle that reaches him from across the alley is enough reward and fills him with warmth. The handsome man has a very lovely voice as well, he perceives, and Keith tries his best to tell himself that _no_ , it's definitely not a crush.  

 _Definitely_!! With exclamation marks.

 

Their windows remain open afterwards and maybe Keith has to use headphones at some point to drown out the lovebirds... lovecats. Whatever.

It's worth it, Keith decides, when he sees Red's lovesick gazes and Black’s longing stares.

  
*****  


Days fly by in a blurr. Keith is trapped between essays and tests and his part–time job giving him hell. Only the prospect of coming home to a new message or even a small conversation with Black and her owner helps him get through. Or should he say 'his'? It occurs to him weeks after Black's first reply that he always referred to the cat as female. It seemed so natural for him to always assume Red to be quite a ladies guy. Cat. 

So when he comes home that evening, he boldly asks."Red would like to know if Black is a girl or a boy"

He considers drawing small gender specific images or using colour-coded pens, but then again it's only a question like any other. He has to use pink washi tape though, since he ran out of his favorite cat print.

  
His neighbor comes home late that night, but Keith peaks over the corner of his laptop to see him attach today's note to the window. He cannot read it very clearly from his spot at the desk, so he tips his chair back, dangerously balancing only on two legs now, but it improves his view on the message.

The letters look a bit off, not as neat as usual. But the answer is clear anyways:

  
"Does it matter?"  


Keith's chair topples backwards, his face colliding with the rug.

What a flooring answer indeed.  
 

The fact that Black appears on the window wearing a blue ribbon around his neck soon after is explanation enough though, and there's a smug grin on his face when he tries to explain to Red that, well indeed, Black is a boy.

It seems only fitting that his cat is just as gay as he is.

  
*****  


Keith hates his life. He hates the goddamn professor for making him fail that exam. He hates his boss from the coffee shop for making for him work double shifts that evening, draining any motivation to work on that stupid other essay he is supposed to finish by the end of the week.

He even hates Red today because his cat did actually _not_ like the new food and puked on his favorite carpet while Keith was out making enough caramel lattes to last a lifetime.  
  
And when he slumps down on his bed and glances to the familiar window, not caring about how loud his music is blasting through his room, Keith hates his devastatingly gorgeous neighbor and his muscular torso for sitting at the window, a book in his hands and glasses on his nose.  
Keith hates the glasses for making him _'feel'_.

  
So he curls up in his bed, turning the music even louder (something fast and noisy, with lots of curse words as lyrics) and tries to drown his thoughts.

By the sudden weight on the mattress and the way his blanket dips under soft paws, Keith knows instantly Red has just jumped up to him. The way his cat curls up into a cinnamon roll on the small space next to his stomach and starts purring softly makes the bad day just a bit better. And so he delves his finger through soft ginger fur and stays like this for a moment or two, until his music fades into something softer, less curse words and deeper lyrics. 

Living alone had its ups and downs for sure, but having Red as a loyal companion to make it through rough days like these is definitely a blessing.  


A couple of songs later Red stops purring, and his ears twitch before he takes one graceful jump to get to his favorite spot in front of the window where he sits down, staring at what Keith assumes is his neighbor’s cat.

Keith sits up to join him, drawn by the small chance there's a new message for Red telling about Black's brand new toy. He could use a witty remark or a cute drawing as a  distraction from his thoughts.

But when he finds his neighbor staring at him, a worried look on his face, underlined by the thick-rimmed glasses, there's a heavy weight in his stomach.  
  
  
The weight only tugs harder when the guy holds up a notepad, his familiar writing reading "You ok?" in bold, red letters. 

Why does he even care about some useless boy that has a stupid crush on the most gorgeous man – with a cat that has a stupid crush on the prettiest Persian feline?

So Keith groans, ruffling a hand through his hair, and looks for a paper. He finds a notepad close by and his Sharpie, never far from the window for spontaneous cat love letters, writing "Hate everything" in scrawly letters, before pressing the pad against the glass for his neighbor to read.

The worried look on his neighbor's face get even worse and there is a wrinkle between his eyebrows as he bends down to write his reply.

Keith can see his tongue poking out from between his lips again. 'Must be a determination thing', he figures, before he's presented with the next message from the handsome guy in the other flat.  
  
"I'm sorry :(  
Anything I can do?"  
  
Keith sighs, shakes his head and rests his arms on the sill, his chin propped on the back of his hands, swaying to the music still filling the air. A few deep breaths with closed eyes help him relax just the slightest and he lets out another sigh before his eyes wander to his neighbor again. He's startled when he's greeted by another message  
  
"Maybe try Netflix & a big tub of ice cream?"  
Another message follows shortly. "Helps me on a shitty day."  
 

And Keith can't help but chuckle. Sounds like a plan. "What's your favorite flavor?", he writes instead, lacking the ice cream and a Netflix account.  
 

His neighbor grins, before hastily scribbling "Chocolate Fudge!", and Keith laughs out loudly.

"Should have suspected that", he replies and the air between their apartments is filled with both their laughter.

"Am I that obvious?" 

Keith just shrugs. He loves how free the words flow between them.

"Guess mine", he teases and he can see the brows of the handsome guy furrow, faking a very thoughtful pose before the written answer "Cookie Dough" appears on the notepad.

"Guess again", Keith replies. Even if his heart aches to blurt out how damn right that guess was. This man makes him feel so warm, so at home.

"Strawberry? Coconut?"

Before he can answer, his neighbor starts writing again."Don't tell me it's Vanilla! Nobody likes Vanilla best!"

  
*****

The next day, Keith buys two big tubs of ice cream – chocolate fudge and cookie dough – and braces for showing up at the window that evening and maybe, just maybe, being brave enough to ask if they want to share – but neither cat nor human appear at the window that night and no new message appears.  


This goes on for days. To Keith it feels like weeks, months, forever.  
  
  
He leaves "you there?" messages but they stay unanswered and Red stops eating.  
He catches himself gazing over the apartment way too often, but the curtains stay close.  
He sighs in lectures and he sighs at work, making his co-workers worry and leaving his essay untouched.

  
The written "We miss you" feels stupid and he decides he'll tear the paper from his window the first thing when he arrives home – only to be greeted with a new note. He feels a breath escape his lips he didn't even know he’s held.

"Sorry, had to leave town. Left Black with friends." and another paper taped underneath: "Missed you, too!"  
  
Keith starts writing "You could have asked me", but then crosses the words out and crumbles the paper.

It feels stupid. They are not friends.  


He writes "Good to have you back" instead, adding a cartoon drawing of a smiling Red with a text bubble that reads "Welcome back".

  
*****  


He's got two essays left to finish for the semester when he finds himself on the verge of either laughing hysterically or throwing his laptop out of the window when his file crashes unsaved and 2000 words are lost.

His hands tug at his hair and Keith hits his head on the windowsill in desperation – three times for good measure. Why does the universe hate him so much?  


Red curls around his arm before jumping onto this shoulder, the cat's nose pressing against his cheek, wet and cold. He does not deserve such an empathic cat.

Nevertheless, as soon as he lifts his arm in an attempt to brush Red's soft ears, his cat decides the other side of the alley is way more interesting than a suffering Keith, turning his head and gazing at what Keith assumes is Black who has deemed them worthy of a visit.  


Of course the universe has aligned against him again – and his hot neighbor is standing at the opposite window instead. It's another night of him only dressed in sweatpants, his muscular chest tinted by moonlight and a smile like the stars on his face, his hand circled around a notepad which reads:

"Hey Red's owner, don't stress yourself!" – it hits Keith hard when he realizes he has never given his name to the guy he had the most obvious crush on.

"But all the papers!", he scribbles fast, too fast, trying to breathe, trying to ignore the heat in his chest and the flutter in his stomach. But it's difficult when the guy's smile is radiating warmth, comfort and care.

It's only getting worse when the next message tells him "Make sure to sleep enough!", accompanied by the man shooting a worried look at Keith, his hands gesturing him to lay down.

Sleep definitely sounds like a plan, Keith decides. It won't bring his 2000 words back, but neither will staring into the void and hitting his head on his desk.  
 

He waves at his neighbor, mouthing a "Good Night" while taking in the gorgeous sight in one last time, before he pulls the blinds down halfways (just so Red can still gaze at Black as long as he wants, Keith notes) and flops down onto his bed.

When sleep finally comes, it's deep and warm, and it lulls him into a dream of beautiful smiles and soft touches and familiar muscles underneath his fingertips, leaving soft traces, heading down, down, dow...

_Oh!_

Keith wakes in the middle of the night with a dire need to change his sheets and the humiliating urge to never look his neighbor in the eye again.

   
*****  


When he comes home the next day, there is a small package in front of his door only signed with a black paw print. It's filled with cat treats, some study snacks for humans, as well as several bags of what's labelled 'anti-stress' tea.

Keith greets his neighbor with a cup in his hand that evening and gets back to finishing a paper that’s due the next day, but not before leaving a message on his window that reads "We say thank you!" in big letters with a drawing of cartoon Red enjoying his treats and cartoon Keith snacking on a chocolate bar.  
  


Another message is glued to the window the next morning, daring, inducing dread that makes Keith's heart beat too fast for early morning hours.

"Black wants to meet Red one day."

His first instinct is to pull down the blinds and to slam himself down on his bed, trying to fix his breathing and his pulse. Red only tilts his head in confusion.

"Hey buddy, you ready for a date with your crush?"

He's not sure if he's talking to himself or the cat, though. Because _he_ definitely is not ready.

Not at all.  
  
  
*****  


With every essay done and the prospect of two weeks of freedom before the next semester, two days later is the first morning that has Keith waking up without Red as an alarm.

It's late spring and the air is a bit damp and the sun tings the sky pinks, so he opens his window to let a breeze in, hops on his windowsill and stares at the sky, the notepad in his hands and his pen absentmindedly scribbling on the paper.

Red joins him a few minutes later, curling up against the leg he has propped against his window frame. It's too early, even for his cat and Keith chuckles while stroking through the ginger fur, earning a purr for the effort.  


Keith lets his eyes wander in the search for something inspiring to draw. His gaze settles on the familiar window across, expecting to see a new message or the white fur of the Persian cat.  
  
He has to catch a breathe when he sees open curtains.

And his half-naked neighbour doing push-ups.

It's hard, too hard, to stop staring at how fascinating the muscles dip and bend with every move. Keith can only imagine the thin layer of sweat on soft skin, and the sunlight reflecting on the window hampers his view while simultaneously bathing the man in beautiful hues.

The pen in his hands moves on its own accord, trying to fight anatomy and human curves and sharp edges, and Keith is about to scratch through his third ruined sketch, when something hits him on the head. Bedazzled, his eyes find a crumpled ball of paper in his lap, today's message in familiar ballpoint pen on white paper and when he looks up, his neighbor smiles and waves at him, his face barely betraying how caught he feels.

"You should be asleep!?"  
  
Keith cannot help but chuckle. Is that a blush on the other guy's face?

Keith hastily flips his notepad to write on a blank paper (and just maybe to hide the sketch of his try at grey eyes, firm arms and a broad chest), before holding the pad up for his neighbor to read.

"Can't!"

It's a bit careless, but he can't help the flirting. It just feels too natural.

So his next message comes off a bit too easy. And too brave.

"I'm enjoying the most gorgeous view."

But his neighbor does not write back.

He just stares at him.

Eyes meeting halfway between their windows, their homes, their hearts.

And Keith can't help but panic.  
  
Has he blown it?

Oh shit, he’s blown it.

  
He can hear the blood in his ears, his pulse running fast, and he can't stop from crossing out his last words with thick lines, trying his best to eliminate any proof of this stupid infatuation.

On the other side of the alley, his neighbor seems to have come to his senses and Keith braces for the worst. Dreading the rejection that is inevitable.

   
Slowly, his neighbor lifts a finger and points to himself, then just as slowly to where Black is sitting next to him – and back to himself.

'You mean me? Or the cat?' Because obviously, Black is pretty gorgeous, too.

   
Keith feels his face heat up and he has to avert his eyes.

That should be answer enough, but his neighbor continues staring, looking totally overwhelmed. And still devastatingly handsome. 

How was that even possible?  


The grip on the notepad tightens and Keith's hands are shaking when he writes three small letters.

It takes a lot of courage to turn the notepad towards the opposite window and he dares not look up, eyes fixing instead on his white knuckles.  
 

"You"  
  


His neighbor's eyes widen in shock and Keith's heart drops. And it drops and breaks and splinters even more when his neighbor raises his hands – in defense? – and steps back behind the curtains.

He's ruined it.

His neighbor was the goddamn best thing that happened to him in a long time and he's simply ruined it.

The emptiness starts in his chest and fills his lungs, each breath harder, more shattered, leaving him hollow.  
 

Even Red nosing at the hand still wrapped around his notepad cannot keep the sob from escaping his lips.

It's hard to stop the tears, especially with Red pawing at his hand, using sharp claws that will surely leave some red scratches. "Stupid cat," Keith hisses and turns to Red, ushering him from the windowsill so he can close the window and his blinds for eternity – but Red seems unimpressed by the resistance, relentlessly tackling the glass, trying to guide his attention.

And Keith looks up to the familiar window.  


He finds himself staring into grey eyes and a handsome face and strong hands holding up a big yellow paper, torn at one side as if it was ripped out somewhere in a haste.

Ballpoint pen and edgy letters and three words.  


"Dinner? Tonight? Shiro".

  
And Keith's heart skips a beat.

At Shiro's smile.

 _Shiro_.

He lets his lips curl around the soundless 'o' and cannot keep from gazing at the neighbor in front of him, at his tousled air and his chest rising and falling, slightly too fast to be casual.

Shiro seems to be nervous as well, nodding at him, starting to lower his paper and his eyes, scratching his cheek.

Oh. _OH!_

Keith has never been this fast to write his reply down on the notepad, big and chunky letters, a proof for his own heart beating out of his chest, spilling more Sharpie on his hands than on the paper.  


"Breakfast? Now? Keith."  
  


And when he sees Shiro's face light up, it feels like the start of something big and beautiful.  
 

*****  
  
"Hey Keith, you think our cats knew we'd end up together?"

Through their linked fingers, Keith gazes at the space on Shiro's bed where Red and Black lie entangled, two purring croissants interwoven by paws and tails, noses pressed together.

He feels Shiro's lips leave butterfly kisses on his neck from where he’s curled up against him on his sofa, two loving hearts interwoven by hands and hips, souls humming in unison.

 

"They are pretty good matchmakers", Keith grins as  he bends down to kiss Shiro.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> I'll try my best to reply to comments and would love to hear what you think.
> 
> You know he drill, cry with me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/dropsofautumn) ♡


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